


the hooded swan

by hysterekly



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Arrow, Alternate Universe - Fusion, Alternate Universe - Superheroes/Superpowers, Crossover, F/F, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-03-09
Updated: 2014-04-01
Packaged: 2018-01-15 04:41:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 20,221
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1291708
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hysterekly/pseuds/hysterekly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When billionaire socialite Emma Charming returns to the big city of Storybrooke after five years stranded on a hellish island, she comes back a changed woman. Determined to protect the people of her city from the corrupt people that rule it, her lone act is disrupted by a couple friends and the intrusion on the scene of a few fellow costumed vigilantes; a pirate (of all things) dubbed The Captain, and a firebug the media calls Banefire. As though her life didn't have enough drama; she has to navigate the minefield of social graces while dealing with the scars of mind and body, and somehow take down the elusive Evil Queen that's flooding her streets with dangerous drugs and weapons.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. some enchanted island

**Author's Note:**

  * For [hookslovelyswan](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=hookslovelyswan).



Enchanted: bewitching, charmed, magical…Emma huffs out a bitter laugh as she stands atop a rocky ledge, surveying the dense forest beneath her. They call this place the Enchanted Forest. It conjures up the image of an idyllic, peaceful forest, full of golden light and beautiful flowers, full of silence and the occasional scurryings of a little furry creature. No one would honestly call this damned island an enchanting vacation destination. It's a sardonic nickname for Hell on Earth. Emma would know, she's been here for…well, she can't be entirely certain. Years, certainly. It's harder to keep track of time, because carrying anything like a calendar would be incredibly inconvenient. Holding onto one would be difficult to say the least.

There was a time when she tried, to keep track of the days as they passed and to try and figure out how long it had been before she'd started. When the days had numbered about five hundred, she'd given up. There had been hope, at first; one day. Ten days. Sixty-two. Soon. There had to be a way for them to find her. Eighty-seven. One hundred and twenty-five. There must be a way off, if only she could figure it out. One hundred ninety. Two hundred thirty. Four hundred. Five. That's when Emma realized there isn't time for hope, for dreams, for anything except…survival. This is certainly no haven for any but, apparently, the very worst of fugitives and murderers, mercenaries and mad scientists.

Stories, so many stories. One for each of the taut white scars that cuts across her body, one for each of the bruises that have blossomed and faded, for the blood spilled and the blood of others she has taken as payment. For every stifled sob that echoes in the darkness of the cave that has become her home. She is alone now. There had been allies; the young Hunter, with beautiful eyes and an odd gentleness behind his confidence. Shot in the head. A much older man, a soldier, time worn but honorable; mind addled by drugs that turned him into a cruel monster. A finger trails across a yellow-green mark on her bare upper arm, summoning the memory of the expert strike of a staff, bringing her to her knees. Peter. The wild look in his eyes and the vicious grin, it had been a complete stranger that had attacked her.

Emma crouches and readjusts the strap on her quiver of arrows, sighing. It had been a gift from Hunter, and at least that memory softens her expression. A spot of brightness that did nothing to drown out the worst the island had to offer, but they had had moments together that drew her mind away from the island, that let her forget for just a moment where she was. He had been instrumental in her survival, teaching her about the island; how to hunt and forage, to build a fire, to use a bow and arrow. Peter had taught her the value of hand to hand combat, of using any weapon that comes to your hand even if it seems useless, but Hunter had given her so much more. Kindness and love. Oh, they hadn't been in love in the sense that she wanted to be with him for the rest of her life, but it was a sort of love nonetheless, based mostly upon the need to keep away the drowning feeling of despair. Difficult to put a label to, they had been a source of escape for one another. She had needed that, desperately; caresses and kisses that reminded her she was human, an outlet for her energy. Any of those days could have been her last, and that had been one of the main incentives.

Peter had loved him. Really, truly loved Hunter. For Emma and Hunter it had been passion and a desire to cling to life, but there was no real emotion behind it more than friendship. None of the deeply seated devotion or romance that characterized Peter's feelings for Hunter, but Emma hadn't wanted to give it up. Hunter knew, he had to have known, but there was no return. There was no energy or time left to give over to guilt, so she had felt none. Hunter's days ran out. Doctor Frankenstein had seen to that. Shaking herself physically and mentally, she berates herself for allowing her attention to focus inward. There are too many dangers ever present in the Enchanted Forest, and if her plan is going to work then she will have to make sure that there is no one around to ruin them. The sun has just begun it's descent in the sky, and she had been sitting on the rocky ledge for most of the hours in the day, the bones from her lunch discarded beside her, by now a mere memory. Lately she has been spending a lot of her time high above the tree tops. It feels safer, even if that feeling is misleading. At least from up here, she's harder to spot, and the rocks make it harder to track her. Peter knows all her usual spots, so she'd had to find new ones. New hunting ground. New sleeping quarters. New lookouts. All other possibilities of escaping from the island had been exhausted, all the carefully laid plans: failed. This is only the one left, a long shot, improbable. All the hope she currently has is that a ship will pass by close enough that she can signal them. Dotted across the coast are piles of kindling, piled up in readiness to make a large enough fire to be seen from the water.

Hope is not something she thought she had anymore. In her mind, she sees it more as a way to pass the time, a habit, to sit and keep watch for any sign of salvation. She tells herself that it isn't because she expects to one day see someone, because in all likelihood it will never happen, or something will go wrong. The tiny sliver of hope that keeps her going to her rocky perches flares up as a shadow cuts it's way through the calm waters, several miles out. For a moment, Emma can't breathe; all she can do was stare, wondering if she is imagining things. It only lasts for a few seconds before she kicks into action. Hopping down and sliding down the side of the mountain, she picks her way through the trees toward the beach, running so hard that she can hardly breathe. Falling to her knees at an outcropping that overlooks the sandy ground, she draws out an arrow and a stolen lighter. The tip of the arrow lit, she takes aim and lets loose. The arrow soars in an arc, falling into the pile of sun-dried sticks and grasses surrounding a mostly dead tree. It takes but a few moments for the flames to catch on the gasoline and grow and rise until it is a towering beacon, and a bark of laughter steals out of her. Emma knows, realistically, that she isn't saved yet, but in the bonfire she can see the end of her exile at last. Turning her gaze toward the black spot, she smiles for the first time in ages as it turns and draws closer.

Jerking herself to her knees, she stumbles her way to the path and resumes her descent to the beach, sand flailing beneath her feet as she dashes to meet the fisherman's boat, splashing into the water and waving an arm, an odd tightness of mixed emotions in her chest.

 _Home_ ; the word sings through Emma's heart in a vibrant cacophony. She is finally going home.


	2. pirate's bay

Killian Jones stares out over the peaceful bay; it’s dark, but the lights of Storybrooke City at his back are enough to drown out most of the stars in the sky, light trapped in a haze of clouds and smog that envelops the cityscape. Squinting up at the clearer sky stretching out in the opposite direction, he sighs and leans back in his seat. His kayak is out far enough in the bay that the light and noise pollution from the city doesn’t quite reach. There is the silence of clear air, disturbed only by the sound of the boat rocking lazily with the small waves of the water. When he closes his eyes, he can almost imagine that he's back aboard the Jewel of the Realm. A sickly name for a ship, but he and Liam had always called it the Jolly Roger. It had been their home for almost their entire childhood. It seems distant, but time has not made the hollow feeling in his heart recede. One by one, the people in his life drift away, and to this day he can't understand why.

A six year old boy and his family faced their first hurdle when Mrs. Jones died. Three years later, two boys woke up to an empty house. Killian grew up on tales of the high sea; of swashbuckling pirates and grand adventures. Going to live with their maternal uncle on a houseboat had seemed like the embodiment of all those dreams, but he was not so young that it was enough to seal over the fractures in his spirit that his father's abandonment had caused. The boys made it their own. The only home that lasted for a long time before they were back on land. A real house. Killian missed the gentle movements of the boat, but his uncle said it was better that way; but the bricks and firm ground just reminded him of what was long gone.

High school was a series of poor choices and close calls, and the only reason he went to university was because he wanted to make his uncle proud. There was a part of him that couldn’t shake off the shadow of his parents; if he were to ever see his dad again, he would want to show him that his actions never dictated Killian's life. Wanted to know that he would have made his mother proud. University was full of even more adventure. Parties and dating, and he barely scraped through. He found it hard to figure out what he wanted out of life, and when he graduated he had no idea what to do with his degree.

So, he did the only sensible thing; he ran. Joined the Navy. Didn't look back. Five years later, he returned. Turned out (surprise, surprise), he didn’t really enjoy being in the Navy. It was too strict, too rigid, too...official. He met Milah on base, just returned from being at sea. She was beautiful and tempestuous, a collection of cliches that people like to apply to the sea itself. She loved him, and it was miraculous. He'd never felt anything like it before, and their relationship was intensely passionate. Everything ends. He should really know that by now. Milah's ex husband, whom she referred to inscrutably as “Rumple”, showed up and before Killian realized, she was on her knees scrabbling at the blood pouring from her abdomen as though she could catch it in her hands and push it back in. Killian had never felt so helpless. That night, he’d lost a hand as well as the only woman he’d felt like he would ever love.

Milah. The name rings through Killian’s head and he feels the ever present bitterness roiling inside of him. It seems as though disappointment and loneliness are his lot in life, and he feels a perverse sense of satisfaction in maintaining the unhappy train of thought as he stares up at the stars that suddenly seem to be staring back balefully.


	3. a charming reunion

"Well?" Emma can hear the soft voice from the adjoining room, the urgency in that one word showing how much restraint is keeping the speaker from just running in.

"Ah...twenty percent of her body is covered by scar tissue." That's the doctor's voice, and the hesitancy he's showing makes her fingers curl into fists. She wants to get this over with. Staring out the window, the city lights twinkle back out of the night. It's bizarre, being amongst all this concrete and steel. There is so much light that even if she closes her eyes, it still pierces through her lids. Emma can hear the voices perfectly well, but she doesn't react. Let them talk as though she's not there, because she'd rather not have to participate. There have been a variety of emotions roiling about; she doesn't want to have to face her family. Their tears and questions...she's not sure she can handle it. Knowing them, there's no way that they'll pretend that nothing happened and just let her alone to get readjusted. Readjusted, what a joke. If she's honest with herself, not only is she not certain she'd be able to readjust no matter how much time she takes...but a part of her doesn't want it swept under the rug. She wasn't out on a holiday, she was stranded in purgatory.

Emma doesn't know what she wants, but for the moment a desire to avoid an emotional reunion wins over. There is a flicker of guilt as she hears the doctor warning her parents that the Emma that returned might not be the same daughter that left.

That's a joke, too, but not one that makes her feel like laughing.

* * *

She sits in the back of the car the entire way back, silent. There's no need to talk, because her mother fills up the silence.

They're treating her with as much distance as she's treating them, and again she can't tell how it makes her feel. There's going to be a distance between them, because she absolutely cannot tell them about her time on the island. It's not even a remote possibility, but she doesn't want to push them away either; not when she's finally gotten them back. Her parents had been measured, she could tell, restraining themselves as much as possible, for which she was thankful. Henry is different in so many ways. When she'd left, he was a rambunctious little five year old, but the boy who comes dashing down the stairs to the foyer is old enough to know that he can't just latch onto Emma's legs and climb up her back like a squirrel. Her breath catches, and for a wild moment she wonders if he can really even remember who she is. It's like there is a new person in her brother's place, on his best behavior. "Hey, kid," she says with a small smile.

It's apparently enough to shake his resolve, because he breaks into a huge grin and launches forward to hug her tight as she ruffles his hair.

* * *

Staring in the mirror, she can't place the person who stares back. It's obviously her, but the image is so...foreign. For five years, the only glimpse she ever had was in a bowl of water, the surface dark and rippling. Her distorted reflections always seemed so fitting, like they were revealing what she really was and not the human facade. Her hair is still blonde. More muscle, definitely more muscle. It seems absurd to be wearing pajamas, of all things. Clean clothes, she sighs to herself, but as she meets her own gaze a name slips from her lips. It's not a real name, but a moniker. "The Evil Queen," she whispers, the emptiness in her eyes filling with a cold anger. "The Evil Queen." That name repeats through her mind and on her tongue as she breathes deeply, staring at herself. The words are a declaration, a promise, a reminder. It's the last thing she thinks about when she finally falls asleep.

Emma wakes in the night with a storm at her back, and she moves as quick as the lightning that flashes to illuminate her hands twisting someone's arm behind them. For that moment she is back on the island, but when she regains a sense of where she is, it's the carpet beneath her, the smell of fresh cotton and not of dirt, the soft breath of silk against her skin. Releasing her grip, she recoils against the sill in horror to see her mother and father, her father cradling his arm as they call out her name. Emma's gaze flits around the room as she calms her heartbeat, licks her lips. Her clothing is wet, and she turns to look over her shoulder at the open window, rain blowing in. "Mom?" She asks shakily, and Snow gathers her in her arms as David gets up to close the window, and Emma feels guilty as she sees him favoring his shoulder.

"Oh, Emma," her mother whispers, voice full of tears. "What happened to you on that island?"


	4. little red braves the lion's den

The CEO of the Mills Corporation stands in her office, facing the window overlooking the city. Even though her back is to the room, she manages to communicate strength and power. The fitted dark skirts, flashy jewelry, and towering heels, she wears it all as regal raiment, and it's difficult to say that she does anything but dominate a room when she fills it with her presence. She's accustomed to running things exactly the way she likes, and she doesn't appreciate when others try to bend her to their will. When the stupid little wide-eyed idealist speaks her name into the forceful silence, she turns around slowly, fixing a deliberate smile on her painted red lips.

"Regina," That hateful voice starts and she cuts it off before it can continue.

"Mary Margaret." It's not a question or an observation, it's a statement. The names are imbued with a silky disdain that matches the hard edge to her expression. "I told you what would happen if you came back here like this." Her arms are folded across her chest; though not as a defense, her matching red fingernails displayed as they tap delicately against her skin. Stepping away from the window, her movements are terribly slow and deliberate, as though she's imagining herself treading upon the throats of her enemies. “Accidents tend to befall people who are too...curious.”

"But Regina, you don't have to do this. Emma really doesn't know anything! I promise you, David and I told her nothing. Please, I will make sure she never finds out."

Regina smiles, showing far too many teeth to be anything less than unsettling, pleased to hear the words of pleading coming from Mrs. Charming. There's suddenly something annoying about it, however, as she realizes that it's as though Mary Margaret is warning her rather than begging, and oh how she wants to see the woman beg for mercy. "Oh, don't worry. I'll make sure she doesn't know anything."

“Fine. You want to make this a battle? You don't scare me. If anyone in my family gets so much as a bruise, I'll make sure that the police know exactly what you're up to. “ She feels an almost calming sense of determination wash over her as she stands up to the woman she once looked on as a friend and mentor. “I tried to give you the benefit of the doubt, Regina, but I will do anything to make sure that my family is safe.” It makes Mary Margaret feel less certain about Emma's safety, but she's already forming her own plan when she turns around and leaves as quickly as she can.

* * *

“I don't know, Emma...” Ruby eyes the Cassidy house with obvious doubt. They're sitting in the road staring up at it from astride two gleaming new Ducati motorcycles.

It's not a meeting that Emma's looking forward to, and she can feel the twisting feeling in her stomach heralding the impending unpleasantness that is about to go down when she and August meet for the first time in five years. She's feeling nervous for the first time in awhile, but she steels her nerves and takes a deep breath before setting off down the road. Ruby follows and eventually takes the lead, because Emma has no idea where August now works. When she'd left, he had been working with a newspaper agency, but according to Ruby he's managed to land the job working at a magazine he's always wanted to get into. Emma wonders if she ever really knew the Cassidy brothers as well as she thought, and guesses that the answer is probably not.

Ruby leads the way to the headquarters, and Emma is impressed despite herself. She had thought it would be weird, being surrounded by enormous hulking buildings after all that time on the island; but it seems as though she can slide back into this life easier than expected. There's more appreciation for everything around her, though, and she takes in the luxurious modern décor of the building as they cross the foyer and enter the elevators. Ruby seems extremely unsettled, and Emma can't blame her. “I think it's better if I just wait in the lobby,” she offers as they step off the elevator. Just walk straight and you'll see August's office. He's got a personal assistant that might try to stop you, but I've got full confidence in you, Emmy.” With that she steps back onto the elevator and Emma doesn't bother to turn as she hears the hissing slide of the doors.

Taking a deep breath, she walks confidently in the direction Ruby had pointed her, and realizes that August is exiting his office, heading straight for her. Emma feels suddenly nauseated as their eyes meet and she sees recognition and anger as he freezes in place. Her chest hurts and her stomach is desperately trying to exit via her throat and she swallows it all down as she stalks forward, a cautious smile hitched on her face. It hurts to see him in a different way, too; she had loved August, she knew that now. Loved him in a different way from Neal and Hunter. With Hunter it had been physical; with Neal, it had been situational. August, however...August had been the one she'd idolized when they were kids. He is a few years her senior, and she'd always adored him. Those emotions rise up again so easily now that she sees him, and she wants to tell him that getting back to him and her family is what kept her going all those years. That she wanted to see him, longed to tell him she was sorry and that it had been fear that had set her off. There was something safe in loving him, something familiar, that reminds her of times when she could be carefree and genuinely happy. An illusion, that's all it is, and she knows it. When he turns and curtly gestures to his office before stomping in there himself, she follows with heavy steps.

“August--”

“No, don't you dare,” he hisses, turning on her as soon as the door is closed. “Don't you dare talk to me like nothing has happened. This isn't some missed date, or a forgotten birthday. You cheated on me. With my brother? How could you? I loved you, Emma. And then,” August paces as his anger builds. “You and Neal go off and get yourselves killed. I'm stuck here, between being furious at the both of you for betraying me, and despair because I won't ever see either of you again. I hated you for so long, Emma, and I'm not ready to pretend like I didn't. I couldn't even be properly mad at Neal because he was dead too, and all the while I thought maybe if--” he cuts himself off suddenly, realizing he's working himself into too great a passion. Closing his eyes and visibly calming himself, he sits down on his desk and grabs a handful of papers to shuffle. “You almost ruined me, Emma. That's all there is to it, and there's no coming back from there. I have to go. I'm on my lunch break.” He tosses the papers back on the desk and pushes past her.

Emma waits for another elevator once she regains her composure, and as the doors open she can hear August talking to Ruby. “How exactly did you think that would go, Ruby?” When Emma steps into their line of sight, August is already pushing through the glass doors.

“About like that,” Ruby mutters with a sigh, and she shows too bright a smile when she sees Emma for it to be genuine. _Poor Ruby_ , Emma thinks. _She's trying so hard to let me be comfortable in my return and not make too big a deal out of it_. Emma is certainly thankful, because she hates it when people walk on eggshells around her. It's not as though she wants everyone to ask about what happened, because it's the very last thing she wants to talk about. When people are very obviously trying hard to not mention it, it's just as bad. Pretending it never happened is something she's comfortable with, and she feels as though she's never appreciated Ruby as much as her friend deserves. “Shake it off, Emmy,” Ruby says bracingly. “Tonight, you and me...we'll go to the club and find some fine boy toys, what d'ya say?” When Emma laughs heartily, Ruby responds in kind. “I'll take that as a yes, let's go get something new to wear.”

* * *

It happens while they're parked later that night near the pier, eating hot dogs while sitting on their bikes. There are two pairs of men coming from opposite directions, and Emma notices them before they get too close. Their movements are to purposeful, and they're not chatting. Usually people strolling along here are doing just that, but these men are shifty to say the least, and they're almost in a hurry. Emma wonders for a brief moment if she's imagining things and being paranoid because of her time on the island, until she notices one pair make a signal to the other. They're boxing them in, and there's not time to get the motors started and ride off before the men can overtake them, so Emma swallows her food and nudges Ruby's foot with her own. “Looks like trouble,” Ruby mutters, and Emma smiles at the men as they approach.

“Can we help you, gentlemen?”

One of them barely has time to respond with “We're here by decree of the Evil Queen, to--” before the leftover hotdog is thrown at his face, mustard and ketchup splattering his face and catching him off guard so that Emma can launch forward and land a well-aimed knee in his groin. Kicking off him, she follows through to land a foot on her next target, and she can hear Ruby's shouts behind her. Ruby might not be a boxer, but she's a scrapper in a fight and has some experience getting herself into and out of trouble with her fists. Unfortunately, one of them has a gun, and Emma's distraction as he aims it at Ruby allows for her opponent to pop a punch in under her guard, knocking her sideways as she stumbles into Ruby. They're both pushed onto the ground, and she instinctively covers Ruby with her own body, using the moments to cast around for anything she can use as a weapon. The man is too far away for her to knock it out of his hands before he fires, and there's nothing larger than a tiny pebble for her to throw at him. The look she turns on the men is murderous at least, and one of them is holding a bloody nose as he helps his partner to his feet, groaning as he clutches at his bruised groin. The third is definitely going to be sporting a shiner in the morning, thanks to Ruby.

“As we was sayin',” The gun-wielding thug slurs in a thick accent. English, she guesses. “The Queen would like to pass on a message, see?” To Emma's surprise, he actually tosses a rolled up piece of paper tied with a satiny black ribbon at her. “Now, you ain't gonna move from that spot, is ya? If you does, I'll shoot ya.” Emma waits until they leave to grab the paper. Unrolling it, she scans the words quickly. It's short and to the point, and nothing more helpful than a common threat. She has to admit, the Queen has style, but it affords her no pleasure to say so. Rolling it back up quickly, she stows it in her jacket and goes over to help Ruby up.

“I'm thinking maybe I'll just stay here for the night. On the ground. I think it might hurt to get up,” she complains vociferously, and Emma chuckles as she pulls her to her feet. “You know, I definitely need a drink and a hot guy right now. Those were some crazy moves you pulled,” she observes and Emma shrugs.

“Picked up a few things while I was gone.” She leaves it at that and Ruby doesn't press, and the alcohol burns away the sore spots and her consciousness and she slips into the dance floor without regret.


	5. princess, warrior, dragon

"Mom?" When she steps into the sitting room, Emma's parents are seated on the ornate white and gold couch that allows them a full view of the doorway to the foyer. What makes her check at the threshold is the third person sitting across from them, back to Emma. The dark haired woman stands as the Charmings do at Emma's entrance, and the high pony tail that is pulled tightly back swishes to the side. Giving her a brief once-over, Emma sees a person who resonates strength, head held high and a business-like smile on her face. Her hands are clasped behind her back, but when Emma steps forward, she puts out a hand in greeting.

"Emma, this is Mulan. I've hired her to...accompany you."

All Emma wants to do is sigh in resignation. Shaking hands with Mulan, she turns the forced smile onto her mother. "A babysitter? Isn't that a bit excessive?" Mary Margaret gives her a sad smile and shakes her head, stepping forward.

"Not a babysitter, Emma," She reaches out and Emma lets her take hold of her hand. "Mulan is well trained. She's here to make sure nothing happens to you. I know," Emma's interruption is cut off before she does more than draw a deep breath, and she glances off to the side to restrain her tongue. "I know. You don't want someone following you around. But I need to know you're safe." Emma knows that it's going to be useless to argue the point, the kidnapping episode has seen to that. She only wishes that Ruby hadn't been there too, because then there would have been no need to get the police involved, and her parents need never have found out about it. She can see the stubbornness in her mother's eye, and she knows that her father won't go against it, especially if it's in the interest of protecting his family. The intentions are all honorable, and Emma tries to remember it, but it's hard to appreciate something that promises to disrupt carefully laid plans. Or, perhaps, carefully laid is the wrong description; but nevertheless, a bodyguard is the exact opposite of what she needs, of what she wants.

With an audible sigh, Emma gently removes her hand and sidesteps to greet Mulan with a more inviting, if still false, smile. "Well then, I guess we could give it a try. You up for a drive into the city?" She raises an eyebrow and Mulan nods curtly and says her good-byes to the Charmings as Emma exits the room to grab her jacket.

By the time Mulan realizes that the silence in the back seat isn't customary, Emma is almost a block behind and headed in a different direction.

* * *

Emma makes her way to an abandoned factory that used to belong to her parents' company. It's in a rough part of the city, and it breaks Emma's heart. Five years ago, she wouldn't have given a damn about the inhabitants here, but now she knows better; it's the fault of the people in her family's circle. They systematically failed this city, and she doesn't know how it can have happened under her parents' watch, but she's determined to do whatever little she can to set it to rights. She's got a large bag slung over her shoulder, and she tosses it over the fence before following it. When she explores the factory building, she decides that it's perfect for what she needs--and she spends a few hours clearing out a basement room accessed by an entrance that would be easy to hide.

Spending the next few weeks surveying the area to familiarize herself, she sets up her own little base of operations in a hidden basement of the building. It's not too difficult to get what she needs, and soon she has a neat little set up of a private network, a few monitors, a plentiful supply of arrows, and plenty of work-out space. Honestly the hardest part is throwing off Mulan, and she's beginning to run out of creative ways to do it. She's only managed it twice so far, the rest of the time sneaking out her window when everyone else is asleep in the Charming household. Emma can see that it's starting to grate on the bodyguard and she almost feels bad. It's not Mulan's fault, after all; surely she's a very competent woman, and she's managed to thwart a couple of Emma's attempts to slip away from her watchful eye. She's the type of person Emma can respect, someone better than her. She's principled, careful, strong, and smart. Part of that is probably due to her training in the military, but Emma can tell that Mulan's that special type of person that takes her job seriously because she believes in what she's doing.

Oh, it might be a far cry from the battlefield, trading in the combat for the metaphorical warzone of Storybrooke's circle of socialites, but despite the serious and almost snarky attitude, Emma can tell that Mulan cares about people. It's refreshing, really. It's her _job_ to protect people, to make sure they're safe, and she cares about Emma's life even though Emma has done a very good job of being an ungrateful pain in the ass about the whole thing. They are currently sitting in a diner, Emma having asked Mulan to chose a place. There's a waitress that Mulan knows, named Aurora; although Emma can't tell their exact relationship, they are definitely close, and she files the information away for later. There isn't much small talk passing between them as they eat their food; Mulan's attention is divided between tracking Aurora's movements and watching Emma as though her charge might disappear before her very eyes. Emma, meanwhile, is pondering her situation.

There's been a series of deaths in Storybrooke, and all of the intel she's been able to glean point toward an assassin called the Dragon. It's taken sleepless hours to find as much information about this criminal as she's managed to assemble together, and she thinks she has enough to move. It should frighten her, but this is her first real self-assigned mission since she got back. This isn't like the small fry she's been dealing with; preventing beatings, stopping muggings, those are important but not difficult tasks. Having made the decision to make some real change, Emma knows she has to stop focusing on the goings-on that are the symptoms and go right for the causes of the disease that's coursing through her city, her home. There are people who do what they can to help this city, but they are bound by the law, by society's rules, by their own personal limits. Not Emma Charming. She died in a storm in the middle of an ocean, but the person that returned that wears her mask is above all of that now. Expendable, in a way. Unafraid. If she gets arrested, shot, killed, the only thing that would trouble her is that she's not out doing her work.

Realizing with a start that she's still in the diner, the quotidian surroundings jarring compared to her inner voice, and Mulan is staring at her in a way that makes Emma smooth her expression into a fatuous grin, wondering if she's let anything slip. Mulan is smart, and that can be dangerous. Perhaps there's something wrong in the recklessness of Emma's mind, but the person that came back from the island doesn't care. Can't care. There is only one purpose left to her now; protect and defend her family, friends, and the people of Storybrooke that have been victimized by the corrupt who hold the power both seen and unseen. It would be easier, Emma thinks, if there were someone to share the burden, to help her find information and—but she can't drag Mulan into this. It's her life and safety she's risking, she can't afford to make someone else join her.

Besides, she sighs inwardly as she pays the bill and proceeds Mulan out the door, if she's wrong and Mulan disagrees with her mission, then she risks exposure, and she hasn't even started yet.

* * *

A face to face confrontation with the Dragon shouldn't be so difficult. If she could survive that first meeting with August, the Dragon should be nothing in comparison. Someone who likes to kill, that's something she knows how to handle. Feelings and men and manners, that's what's hard. There's something fun about the battle usually, but the stalemates are hard to navigate. The Dragon likes to use firearms. His bullets have some sort of poison, and a shot in the arm shouldn't be so debilitating. There's a prickling fire buzzing through her veins, and her arm feels like it's on fire; this is worse than being stung by a whole cloud of wasps, and soon she knows she won't be able to move her fingers. She's already tried her arrows, but they bounce off his armor. Not enough research, she knows that's her error. Hubris. She has to get herself together; Emma knows how to fight. She knows how to take on people with guns, swords, arrows, knives, fists, everything. Even people wearing armor. It doesn't mean she doesn't make mistakes, however, and she's made one tonight.

If she could think straight, she'd be able to form a new plan, but it's hard to make her mind focus when she wants to just cut off her own arm. They're in the top floor of the building she's supposed to be partying in. She's thinking about how she wonders if Mulan is still looking for her, fingers fumbling with the strap of fabric she's attempting to tie around her arm to try and cut down the circulation. It won't be very effective, but at least it might give her a few moments to think. The Dragon is hiding down on the other side, because Emma is blocking the only exit. The door flies open and she grabs hold of her knife and leaps to her feet, then quickly assumes a non-threatening position as she realizes it's Mulan pointing the gun at her, shouting “Freeze!”

“Get out of the open,” Emma shouts, and she stumbles forward as she hears the Dragon slinking about; but as she grabs at Mulan's shoulder to pull her into the cover of the pillar she'd been hiding behind, the crack of a gun rings out. Mulan, in the process of maintining a distance between them, presents a clear target and goes down hard, staring for a moment at the blood seeping from her shoulder. Emma knows it won't take long for the poison to take effect, but she's not worried about the Dragon taking aim at Mulan again if she stays down. He's an assassin for hire, and she doubts he's been paid to kill off a random bodyguard. Perhaps the poison will kill them eventually; it certainly is a good way to torture someone, and she thinks that's just his way of entertaining himself. His sniper gun is set up at the window overlooking an office building, and she drags Mulan behind cover, grabbing the gun and stowing it just out of reach from her bodyguard. She doesn't like to use them; they're clumsy, cowardly things.

A plan of attack. She has to somehow get rid of the gun, or break it or dismantle it somehow. She doesn't know as much about sniper guns as she'd like, but she knows where the bullets are. All she needs is for him to get close; it's a dangerous bet, but she doesn't have many other choices. “Afraid to meet me face to face, Dragon?” She taunts, seeing if she can get him to answer and pinpoint his location.

There's not much of an echo, which is lucky because he responds with an arrogant laugh. “Afraid? No, but I think it's rather...beneath me. Bullets are so much more...elegant, don't you think? I'm surprised you're still standing.” His voice is hoarse and gravely, and it grates on her ears. She slips along the floor, closer and closer as she follows the sound. He's quick, and as she surges around a corner he raises an arm to block her attack. Now that she's in his space, she's in her element, and she unleashes a relentless barrage of attacks, stubbornly ignoring the shooting pains crawling up her shoulder. He's smirking, although she can tell he's unused to hand-to-and combat and it's tiring him out quickly. It's tiring her out too, but he thinks he has the upper hand. That he's just humoring her, because all he needs to do is try and knock her over the head with his gun. Or shoot her again, really. Emma's buying time, studying up close the way his armor moves, and when she finally finds the gap in the armpit, she sinks the blade in. “Look at me,” she crows. “A modern day Saint George,” and she disarms him easily, knocking him over the head and knocking him out.

Barely taking the time to spray any drops of blood from her or Mulan with bleach, she gathers up the two handguns and does her best to smash the sniper's gun on the ground. She dials 911 from a burner phone and calls the police, directing them to her location as quickly as possible, then drags Mulan up and helps her down the stairs. They disappear into the throng of people at the party, coats covering their wounds, and Emma does a good job of feigning drunken stumbling as they leave just before she hears sirens pulling up to the building.

* * *

Lucky for both of them, Emma has a stock of cures against a number of things. There's a special plant that she has saved up that works for this type of poison, and as she administers the antidote for both herself and Mulan, she wonders who is supplying the poison to the Dragon. It's something that Frankenstein had been testing on subjects in his lab on the island, and she had hoped to never encounter it again. Probably down to the Evil Queen again, she figures. That's the most likely explanation, as the Evil Queen had been the one funding him. The one who had sabotaged her yacht and caused it to sink. She still didn't know why, or if she could even believe anything Frankenstein said, but he had seemed to know too much about her already.

Patching up herself and Mulan was quickly and cleanly done, and when Mulan came too, Emma was sitting beside her in the dark grey hood, the tiny swan insignia on the breast a clean white that caught Mulan's eye before anything else. When she looked up at Emma, the hood was down and the greasepaint had been wiped from her eyes. “You!” Mulan struggled to sit up, wincing slightly, the single word an accusation. Emma nodded and spread her hands out as she shrugged.

“Now you know why I keep escaping from you. I could have left you there, you know. I could have dropped you off at a hospital, done anything but brought you here. But...I can't do this on my own. I think you'd be well suited to it.”

Mulan turns a narrowed, dubious gaze upon Emma. “To what, exactly?”

Emma sighs and stands up, shrugging with her good shoulder again. “You've seen the news. I've been working on taking offenders off the streets. I have a much loftier goal, though,” she says and leans on the table next to Mulan. “There's a crime boss running almost everything. They go by the name Evil Queen. My goal is to bring them down. Will you help me?”

There's a pause that she doesn't break, letting Mulan think about it. “I don't know,” she responds honestly. “I've been wondering about that for awhile now. Ever since I saw that there was a vigilante, taking justice into their own hands—I wasn't able to figure out where I stood on the matter. I want to say yes, but...”

“What about a trial run?” Emma's trying hard not to be disappointed, but she hopes that if Mulan gives it a try she'll lose her doubts along the way. Mulan nods, and Emma tosses her a bottle of pain killers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> omg this chapter was long...also i don't know anything about weapons, fighting, or how to patch someone up who has just been shot. so...sorry if you do and you see some glaring mistake, haha.


	6. august is a stormy month

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> potential trigger warning for description of a panic attack. skip to the first break if you want to avoid it.

It starts as an uneasy gnawing at the pit of her stomach, sated by neither food nor water, throwing a pall over her whole day. Today she's been spending time with Mulan, really getting to know each other. They're supposed to be discussing their partnership, but she has to make a lame excuse and leaves Mulan cooling her heels in the mansion to take a stroll along the Charming lands. This is a place truly deserving of the title “enchanted forest”, and it's a pity that she can't appreciate it more in the moment. Everything feels jarring, and she feels as though the company of other people is a pressure pushing down on her head. Escape had been necessary, but the forest is a different set of discomfort. With a sudden sense of alarm she realizes she has no idea how long she's been walking, and none of the surroundings look familiar.

She can't see where the forest ends, and there are no markers. She's off the trail, without any idea how it happened. Pulse throbbing in her neck, she feels like her ears have cotton in them, and there's a buzzing noise underlaying the increasing rhythm of her heartbeat. Her fingers feel as though they've gone to sleep, and she's turing in circles as her breathing becomes ragged. A dizzying fear grabs a hold of her, and she runs blindly ahead, the sound of footsteps pounding out all around her. They're here. They can't be, but they are; Cora's soldiers are after her, keen to finish the job. They're shouting, taunting her, rounding her up. She trips over something and falls, but she doesn't feel the scraping of skin against rocks and gives up, her arms tingling and numb and something is pressing on her chest so she can't breath. Waits to feel a baton across her back, rough hands hauling her up, anything.

Nothing happens. Emma lies there, forehead against the ground and her knees curled up beneath her, breath heaving until it turns into sobs. When her breath comes back, the numbness in her arms recedes and all she can feel is exhausted as tears drip onto the dirt. Giving vent to everything makes her feel better. This isn't the first problem she's had readjusting to life in Storybrooke, but it's certainly the worst. She's not sure what brings it on, but she knows it's something she has to work on. What seems to make it the hardest is maintaining the facade that everything is fine and dandy, that nothing's changed. That nothing bad happened. Having Mulan is a little better, but she still can't bring herself to talk about it with her. Not yet. They don't know each other well enough, although if there's anyone in Storybrooke that can understand what she's going through, it's Mulan, battle hardened Mulan. This moment of weakness is not something Emma wants others to witness, so she waits until she's calmed down. It's easy enough to retrace the paths she used to run when she was younger, and she feels embarrassed for herself at how simple it is to step back onto the path. There's nothing but the sounds of the forest around her, and although she thinks she ought to know better, it still feels as though she was being shamefully overdramatic.

That's something she needs to work on too, but for now Emma is content to know that the piercing anxiety is gone, at least for today. If she gives herself the time to wander back up to the house, maybe her pride will stop smarting along with the scrapes on her knees and hands.

* * *

One of the many talents Emma picked up during her time on the island was observation. So many people go about their daily lives without really taking in their surroundings. Emma had been like that, before the island. She couldn't have told you what color shirt you were wearing the day before, much less notice when two people were being awkward. She had the room memorized upon her entrance, and sitting at their private table in one of her former favorite clubs with August on one side and Ruby on the other, she can feel a tension that isn't there when she is alone with either of them. This isn't the first time she's seen August since their first encounter; they've met a few times, for coffee or lunch, and although he seems to have calmed down somewhat he is still, understandably, having trouble getting over everything that has happened between them. That's one thing. The awkwardness between her and Ruby only arises when Emma breaks plans off early, or cancels them altogether. She tries not to do it often enough to hurt Ruby's feelings, but she made the decision to put her new work first, and that means sacrifices.

There's a weird tension having the three of them there. She can feel it. It's making Emma uneasy, and she knows she won't dispel the feeling until she knows what's going on. “Guys, seriously, what's going on? Do you wanna go somewhere else?” She finally asks, having reached her limit of awkward silence and quickly dying conversations. Ruby looks guiltily at August before looking at Emma, and August just rolls his eyes.

“Ruby and I slept together.” Ruby squawks indignantly and her shoulders slump as she turns a beseeching look upon Emma.

“Emma, I'm so sorry, I didn't mean—it was—I didn't mean to betray you—oh, Emmy—“

“I'm not sorry,” August frowns at them both, sipping on his whiskey and turning a defiant eye on Emma. “You cheated on me. You were dead. I don't owe you any explanation.”

“No, you don't. You don't owe me an apology. I think it's...good.” Emma knows she should have expected it. She had been with people other than August, and he thought she was gone. If it was what they both wanted, who was she to judge? It didn't hurt quite as much as she felt it should, and she decided that if it was something they wanted, they certainly deserved to give it a go without her interfering in any way.

“I don't need your blessing, Emma.”

“No, but I do,” Ruby shoots him a look and grasps Emma's hand. “Emma, I swear that I didn't do it out of spite or anything. I didn't want you to find out this way, I'm sorry I didn't tell you before.”

Emma squeezes her hand and leans in with a smile to whisper in her ear. “Ruby, if you want my blessing you have it. You don't need it though. Don't let my being alive keep you from doing what makes you happy.” Leaning back, she grins at them both, her words loud enough for them to both hear over the din of the club scene. “I missed my chance with August. Well, not so much missed as...tossed it away. To new beginnings,” and as she raises her glass, Ruby follows and echoes her words cheerily. August, looking a bit put upon and irritated, raises his glass too and subsequently finishes his drink.

If Emma takes out her frustrated and unresolved feelings on a couple of gang members that night, no one else has to know about it but her.

* * *

Showers. It's so amazing how clean you feel after a shower. Everything about it is amazing and even more so after going so long without even so much as a civilized bath. Wallowing in a pond isn't really as effective nor as enjoyable as a hot shower. The heat is a little too much, but she likes the way it burns out the knots in her shoulder, eases the ghostly ache of wounds. Her skin feels different, and she smells like flowers, and everything is so warm. Comfortable. Having an entire wardrobe is a luxury she didn't know she missed, and the soft cotton pants and spaghetti strap slide across her skin like a breath of air. The bed is, if she can be pardoned the hackneyed metaphor, a cloud beneath her. She sinks in, rolls around with a grin, and sits up to pick a book up from her night stand. She has a cardigan sitting beside her, one that matches the pajama pants, but she's still warm from her shower.

When Henry knocks, he barges in before she remembers to cover up, and he has a full view of her arms and upper back and the scars that stand out under the bright lights. The horrified expression on his face as he checks himself halfway into her room prompts her to remember, and she hurriedly shrugs on the cardigan, annoyed with herself. Without knowing what to say, she smiles and slips off the bed to walk over to him, and she questions ungenerously whether the look in his face is pity or empathy.

It doesn't matter, really, and she gathers him into a tight hug. “Oh Henry,” she sighs.

“Mom told me that you had scars,” he says and pulls away. “I didn't know they would look so...do they still hurt? How did it happen? Or am I not supposed to ask?”

“No, it's fine. They don't really hurt anymore,” Emma sits down on the bed and invites him to join her by patting the comforter beside her. Henry joins her, and she tucks one knee up under her chin. “There were a lot of other people on the island, actually. But they were...bad. Some of them were real bad. I had a couple friends there, though. We fought together, and that's how I got some of these scars. Trust me, fighting with swords is much cooler in the movies than it is in real life.” She winces dramatically and looks down at him when she doesn't get a laugh in return. There's a speculative aspect to the way Henry is staring off at nothing, and for some strange reason she can feel an intuitive dread, confirmed by his next words. “So...you got really good at fighting, then? Like a superhero?”

“W-well, not quite,” Emma is taken aback, and she feels as though she's treading on very thin ice. “I learned how to fight, but I'm not that good at it.”

“Really? Look, Emma. I'm not five. I'm not stupid.” He crosses his arms and she'd be amused in other circumstances by the look on his face. “There's a lot of coincidental evidence. Are you sure you're not out beating up bad guys here, too?” His raised eyebrows are daring her to lie, to contradict him, and suddenly she feels like he's not so much of a stranger as he was before. She missed most of his childhood, spent almost half his life with no contact. He's right, he's smart. It's obnoxiously endearing, and she decides there's probably no harm in his knowing. It's not as though she'll let him go with her; maybe she'll let him see the basement hideout, but that's about it.

“If you call me the Savior, I swear I'll break something and tell Mom it was you.” Edified by the excitement writ across his features, she tells him a censored version of everything she's been doing since she got back.

“So that's why you keep leaving at weird times. Promise I'll cover for you whenever you need it. Can I help you? I'm really good with computers. Convinced Mom and Dad to send me to a camp, and I've been learning more about it ever since.”

Emma doesn't have the heart to say no, and so she doesn't. Mulan will make sure that he doesn't see or hear anything he shouldn't, and Emma can make sure that he stays at home unless there's nothing much going on. “Okay, but you can help me best by dealing with Mom and Dad. It'll be a relief to have you helping me out on that front, it's getting harder to slip away.”

“You said that you want to bring the Evil Queen to the cops, right?”  
“Right.”  
“What else are you doing?”  
“I gotta start with the people that work for her.”  
“What about everyone else?”

Unsure what he's aiming at, she asks him to clarify. “I mean, what about people who don't work for her, but are still bad.” When he doesn't get a response, Henry continues. “I think it's a waste, if you just target one person. Revenge isn't a good path to follow, didn't you watch _any_ movies before you left?”

“Apparently not the right ones,” she quips, a laugh in her voice.

“Use your skills to help people. Everyone. Not just yourself. I mean, it's good to go after the really bad guys. But maybe you shouldn't focus too hard on just that one thing. Be a real hero, the Savior, and help everyone who's in...distress.”

Taking his words to heart, Emma sends him off to bed before diving into her own. 


	7. pirates wear leather

Emma frowns as she stares down from her high vantage point at the man in an outlandish costume who is creeping along the corner of the building she's perched upon. Considering that Emma looks remarkably akin to the classic image of Robin Hood in black leggings and a dark gray hooded tunic with her bow and quiver, the adjective of outlandish as applied to her opinion of the stranger's costume is even more forceful.

He's dressed, of all things, as a _pirate_. She would be lying if she said that he couldn't pull off the waistcoat, breeches, boots, and billowing sleeves with style; but it's a bit garish. Her costume is part convenience and part sentiment. It's dark and simple, and allows her to blend in while being recognized by the criminal order as something dangerous. Instead of trying to blend into his surroundings, the pirate seems to be trying to get attention. What on earth he might gain from such a situation, she can't fathom, and she decides to follow him to see what he's planning on doing.

He spends the night roaming about, apparently at random, shaking down low-lives for, she's guessing, information. In her opinion, he's moving about as though he has no idea where to begin, or how to navigate the city. She's been gone awhile, but Emma thinks she'd have heard about someone roaming about dressed as a Golden Age pirate. Maybe he's new here, it would certainly not surprise her.

Dropping in behind him as he's trying to cut through an alley onto the next street, he whips around and he's wearing—a hook? That's definitely a hook flashing on his left arm. The domino mask he wears does absolutely nothing to hide the brilliant blue eyes that not even the dim yellow glow behind him can dampen, and although it's large enough to hide half his face, she can tell that he's an attractive man. He has dark stubble brushed across his jaw, and she chokes out a laugh because it's all so absurd. He's far too beautiful. It should be weird and offputting, but his shirt is unbuttoned to a dangerous degree, displaying his chest. He looks every inch a pirate, and a dashing one at that. Her almost formless costume feels shabby in comparison, and there's an abrupt wish that she was wearing something more flattering. Emma feels lucky that the hood and shadows are covering her, because the way he's squinting indicates to her that he probably can't see her face well enough to see the obvious admiration.

Covering over any hint of it, she puts a hand on her hip and gestures toward him, the voice changer activated by the vibrations that herald her words. “What, lost on your way to the masquerade?”

He bows theatrically, managing to make something so graceful look so easy. He takes a step toward her, and as his boot touches down on the uneven pavement, she whips her bow from off the crook of her elbow and notches a bow from the quiver at her back. It's a seamless, practiced movement and she draws the string taught, her muscles shifting as she aims it just so that it would whiz past him. After all, she doesn't want to risk accidentally injuring someone who means her no harm. Chances are, he can't tell where she's aiming and the sight of an arrow angled toward him is enough to make him check his movements, throwing his arms up. “There's no need for violence, love,” he grins, waiting for her to make the first move, and despite herself she can feel the effect of his evident charm, from the nonchalant vulnerability to his accented words, and it annoys her that there's a weakness in her showing through, so instead of relaxing the bow she draws it tighter.

“Who are you and what are you doing here?”

“Captain Hook, at your service,” he places his hook upon his chest and gives a flourish of his fingers. “I thought it fitting, and it is awfully cumbersome to refer to yourself as merely Captain. I cannot very well give my real name, so...Captain Hook. More dapper than my Disney counterpart, wouldn't you agree?” He flashes her a crooked grin and she impatiently brushes a finger against the shaft of the arrow to bring his attention back to the weapon aimed now at his shoulder. “Of course, of course, it's always business with you Americans. I'm looking for someone. A rather specific someone. If you don't mind, my search is not going so well at the moment, so if our little interrogation is quite over...” The pirate is shifting backward, and she can tell he's intent on talking his way out of the alley and hoping she won't notice until he's gone. Emma is the one in control of this conversation, and she decides to remind him by letting the arrow fly loose.

It embeds itself in the crumbling mortar a few inches from his head, and Killian takes the warning shot for what it is. “If you want to spend more time with me....Swan,” he decides, gesturing at the recently refurbished coin-sized embroidered pattern of a swan at the shoulder of her tunic. “All you had to do was ask.” He leans up against the wall and drags his hook along the protruding arrow as he inspects it, and she reaches back as though to retrieve another one.

“The distance you would have to cover to either attack me or run away is enough that I will have time to put an arrow in your throat and notch another for good measure, so I wouldn't try it.”

He shrugs and runs his gloved hand through his hair. Killian is definitely more intimidated than he lets on, but he's heard of this woman. The students at his University talk about her, one even going so far as to mention her in an essay. “Oh, I believe you. No need to ask who you are, love. They call you the Savior. I don't quite believe death is in your province, however. I'm a civilized gentleman,” he pushes off from the wall, hand splayed across his abdomen. “I've no quarrel with you, and I do not believe you can have one with me.”

“If you call me 'love' one more time, I might change my no-kill policy.” That makes him laugh, eyes crinkling and head tilted back just slightly, and although Emma's muscles don't relax, she leaves the arrows in the quiver. Slinging the bow back, she stands her ground. “I thought you couldn't trust pirates. Why the hell are you dressed like that, anyway?”

“Why are _you_ dressed like that?” Killian fires back, and she snorts.  
“At least I don't look like I ransacked a costume shop.”  
“I will have you know, lo- _milady_ , that this is the finest Italian craftsmanship has to offer.”  
“At least you're learning.”

There’s no getting information out of him, not like this. Emma had hoped that meeting him would give her some sort of insight, but it hasn’t, not really. Cutting her losses seems like a good idea, deciding it’s time to head back to base. Backing up a few paces while maintaining eye contact, she reaches for a smoke pellet in the pouch attached to her belt and tosses it at him. As smoke billows out, she jogs toward the end of the alleyway. The Captain's words follow after her, and she pauses to look over her shoulder.

  
“We'll have to do this again soon, Swan. Perhaps with fewer pointy objects aimed at my vitals!” She bites her lip to hide a smile as she flies up a fire escape and onto the rooftops.

* * *

“Captain. Captain Hook. He called himself...Captain Hook.” The monotonous tone matches Mulan's put-upon expression, and she gives an eye roll before she returns to the punching bag. She lets out a barrage of hits, locks of hair flying about her face as she accents each punch with a muttered aspersion on pirates in general and men that have no sense of originality.

Emma laughs, and it's something genuine and light. Despite everything, the encounter with the Captain has put her in an inexplicably good mood. Inexplicably, because throughout most of it she'd felt annoyed.

“Well?” Mulan is looking at her expectantly when she glances up.  
“Well...?”  
“What do you think?”

“About Hook?” A flat stare. “I guess he's okay. A little too...flirty. He has the wit of a twelve year old boy, he was kind of a smart ass half the time, y'know? What?” Frowning at the grin on Mulan's face, she crosses her arms. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Was he swashbucklingly dreamy too? With...maybe beautiful soulful eyes and muscles you can really grip?”  
“Wh-hah. What? I'm pretty sure swashbucklingly isn't even a real word.”  
“So he was dreamy? Interesting. I meant what side is he on, but if you want to tell me all about his attributes, don't let me stop you.”  
“Oh, don't twist my words like that. I...guess he was good looking, but what does that matter?”  
“Don't go soft on me, Charming!”

“Shut up,” Emma says without any bite to the words as she throws a towel at Mulan's head. Mulan catches it with a nimble flick of the wrist and smirks, shaking her head as she wipes her brow.

“Look, if you wanna go on a date, I'm sure we could set something up.”  
“Mulan! Actually,” Emma's outraged smile turns into speculation. “That's not a half bad idea.”  
“I was joking. Are you serious? Look, I'm not going to judge you but is that--”

“No, no, no...I mean, it might be a good idea for the future. I'm still not sure what he's up to, but it might be a good idea to see if we can find out who he really is. Do that, and maybe we can set it up so that Emma can meet him instead of the Savior. It's something to consider.”

“I'd say it sounds good to me, but you know there's something unsettling about you saying 'Emma' like it's someone else, right?”

Emma shifts uneasily and shrugs. “Sometimes it feels like she is.” 


	8. the truth is always best

It's really too bad that Regina Mills has a reputation to maintain as the CEO of her family's company, because she would dearly love to let lose with the fury that is boiling up, filling her lungs, her throat. There's the urge to break everything in sight, to grab her inspid assistant by the throat and squeeze until his eyes roll up and—but no, she uncurls the white-knuckled fists and swallows heavily, forcing the lump that's frozen in her throat away. Her reputation is so important; no one can see the real face behind the mask, or she risks her entire enterprise. It's taken a little over a decade, but Regina has finally built up an empire worthy of her; and now, suddenly, there's a self-styled “hero” roaming the streets interfering with her underlings, disrupting more than one lucrative venture. An entire shipment of the Curse, a newly developed synthetic drug from Doctor Frankenstein, had been intercepted and turned over to the authorities. That had been an incredible setback, but Regina is nothing if not resourceful. She has her own little pet police officer who had managed to work things so that a few of the packets went “missing”. It hadn't been enough to roll out in the streets, but it was enough to use on a few test subjects that she had needed...quieted.

The “Savior”, as the media is calling her, is a definite obstacle to all of Regina's grand plans. It isn't something as banal as money and power that she desires for she had those in spades already) but a desire for revenge. It is this seedy underbelly of Storybrooke that killed her husband Daniel and at times like this the image of him simmers just at the edges of her memory, making the emptiness inside echo all the worse. He had been killed by the very people he had tried to help and protect, stabbed outside the free clinic he had been volunteering at, and that is something that she will never be able to forgive for the rest of her life. There's an infestation in a part of the city, and she needs to make it worse before she can amputate the diseased limb.

It's with these lowering thoughts that she stares at her cell phone, wondering whether it's really worth it to deal with the devil. A part of her wants to deal with this on her own, but the most prominent voice in her mind is telling her that it's better to strengthen her offense and defense as much as possible to prevent things from getting worse, and she presses the dial button.

“Mr. Gold,” Regina greets him in a silky voice. “I think we need to talk.”

* * *

“Wow, you know, I think I might have missed french fries the most while I was gone,” Emma speaks thickly through a mouthful of food. Ruby laughs and leans back, grinning at their waitress as she comes over to refill their water. Mulan thanks her and the smiling looks they exchange have Ruby staring after the waitress when she leaves.

“She's pretty hot,” Ruby says nonchalantly, watching Mulan's reaction under hooded eyes. Emma stifles a laugh as Mulan starts violently, dropping her fork and coming back up with a flush to her cheeks. Aurora, their waitress, comes over with a new one and the lingering touch on her shoulder has Emma exchanging her own look with Ruby. Mulan all but glares at Ruby and stabs at her salad.

“That's Aurora.”  
“Ooh, do y--”  
“She's off limits.”  
“Hey, I'm not as much of a wolf as peop--”  
“I said no.”  
“Because you l--”  
“She was my brother's wife.”

That shuts Ruby up immediately, and there's an awkward silence as Mulan turns to look at Aurora over her shoulder. There's an inscrutable mix of emotions on her face, but Emma thinks that weariness wins out over all. “His name was Phillip. He was in the military with me,” she offers up the information and no one interrupts her, waiting until she finishes. “He and Aurora were married the year he enlisted. They were together two years before that. We became close while he was gone, and then I went to join him overseas. Phillip...died. A few years ago. When I finished my tour, I came back, but...” Mulan trails off and shrugs, sniffing slightly as Emma lays a hand over hers. She knows how it feels when it's like your life is unraveling, and although she thinks that there is much more to the story between Mulan and Aurora than she lets on, there was no way Emma is going to push it.

* * *

Hours later, Mulan is standing at the entrance to an alley way and Emma is crouched on top of a building. They're both watching different targets, and while Emma has her binoculars up, she speaks, the ear piece connecting the two of them. “You know,” Emma begins with trepidation. “I'm thankful that you decided to help. I really don't think I could do all this without you, and it's nice to know that you have my back.” Mulan doesn't respond, and Emma decides to be a bit nosey. “This is my life now. It's my entire life. I traded my social life in for it, and that was my choice. It's not a burden that you have to take on like me; you shouldn't let me and my goals get in the way of you being happy. I don't want that.

“I can handle things on my own sometimes, you know? I can take over and just work alone if you want to take time for yourself. Maybe...go on a date. Anything, really,” she adds hastily.

Unsure whether or not she's imagining it, she's pretty sure she hears Mulan chuckle. “You won't let it go, will you? Fine. You're right. I've got a big fat crush on my brother's widow.” The laugh has a bitter edge to it. “I don't even know if she's into women. I think she really only sees me as a sister. I can't jeopardize it, she...she has a child. If I ruined things between us, she might not...she might not feel comfortable with me and I don't think I could handle that.” There is a hitch in her voice.

“If it's one thing I learned on the island, it's that you have to make the most of everything. You have to take risks if you want to survive. Survival doesn't just mean living, otherwise what's the point; you need happiness, whether it's from yourself or people you love. Sometimes you just have to grasp at happiness—whether it's easily in your reach or not. How will you know if you don't even try?”

Mulan is silent for so long that Emma forgets about the conversation, gets wrapped up in her surveillance. Mulan's voice sounds right in her ear, and she pauses as she's crossing to a different rooftop, tracking her target. “Thanks.”

Emma smiles, jumping the gap and rolling into a crouch, creeping to the edge and settling in a squat. “I've moved to the rooftop to the east.”

* * *

Mary Margaret is pacing up and down the carpeted sitting room when David walks in, and she doesn't even wait for him to greet her before she begins. “David, we have to tell her. We have to tell Emma.” They just burst out of her, and he can see the anxiety written all over her face. When David lays his hands on her shoulders, she stills, relaxing into his touch. “We need to tell Emma. The only way she can be safe is if she knows she has to protect herself.”

“Regina was clear about what she'll do if anyone finds out. We can protect Emma and Henry by keeping silent about what we know.” It feels shady even as he says it. David might not know the extent of everything that Regina's been doing, but he knows it's bad, and he feels like at this point he's only playing devil's advocate rather than stating a strong opinion. “If they accidentally let anyone else know...”

“But if we make it clear what the situation is, they'll be careful! David, Emma is a grown up now. Henry is old enough to understand. They can handle it, they'll keep the secret. Emma's been with Ruby so often...what if Regina doesn't need a reason? What if she just goes after them as a preemptive strike? I just want them to be prepared.”

David draws a deep breath and smiles, planting a kiss on the anxious countenance turned toward him. “If you think it will keep them safer to know, then maybe you're right. But I'll try and take some extra precautions. If anything does happen to us, I want the information to go to someone we can trust.”

“David,” Mary Margaret looks uncomfortable. “I wish we could turn it in to the authorities...”

“I know,” He replies as he draws her into his arms. “That would be asking for trouble. We can't risk it. Who knows? Maybe the Savior will figure it out and solve the problems for us. One can hope.” It earns him a wavering chuckle.

* * *

“Emma, is that you?” She can hear her father's voice coming from the study upstairs, and a moment later he steps out onto the landing. “Can you come up here for a moment?”

There's a wild instant where she's afraid that she's been found out, or that something happened to Henry. A number of scenarios pass through her mind in the few seconds it takes for her to cross to the steps, and she gives herself a mental shake as she mounts the stairs. Passing through the doorway gives upon a scene that doesn't help to allay her worries. Her mother is sitting on the desk and her father is beside her. They gesture to the chair sitting before them, and she shakes her head.

“No, I think I'll stand,” she says dubiously. “What's this about? Is Henry okay?”

“Henry's fine, for now. That's what we want to talk to you about.”

Mary Margaret has a slim folder on the desktop beside her, and she hands it to Emma as she exchanges a look with David. “There's something we've been keeping from you. It's about Ruby's mother. We knew she was kind of ruthless as a businesswoman, but this...it goes beyond that. I know it seems impossible, that someone we've known for so long could be so-so--” When she falters, grasping for an appropriate word, David steps in.

“False,” He sighs the word out. “Emma, your mother and I made a deal with Regina. We wouldn't go to the authorities about anything, and she would leave our family alone.”

“You're not sure you can trust her to keep her promise,” Emma observes, not quite as stunned by the news as she would have been before the island. It's a lesson she's had to learn with painful consequences: you will never truly know another person. She's no exception, either; just thinking about her double life is proof of it. Everyone keeps secrets, and sometimes they're not so innocent. The memories she has of Regina Mills is of someone who is cold and calculating. It makes Emma realize how lucky she is to have parents that care about her; Ruby had no one, really, after her father died. Regina would disappear for months at a time, and even when she was around, she treated Ruby as more of a nuisance than anything else.

“Exactly.”

While her parents are explaining everything they've seen, heard, and (accidentally) discovered, Emma can't help but appreciate the dynamic between them, watching her parents as she has never done before. The last few months show her that maybe she never really treated them as she should have. She takes them for granted, even after her return, and she knows that it's not good to let herself put distance between her and her family. Sometimes, growing up, she can remember feeling lonely or unwanted. Usual fare for children, she thinks, but it's there nonetheless. It was hard to understand just how much work had to go into running a conglomerate while attending social functions and being, in general, major pillars of Storybrooke society. Little gestures might not have made up for the busy schedules at the time, and Emma can remember times when she doubted that her parents cared for her at all, but it's hard to forget that she was not a perfect child.

It must have been hard for her parents to balance their lives with such a hell-raiser for a daughter. If Emma had been anything but a Charming heiress, she'd have been sent to juvie for a long time with all the stunts she'd pulled. It's a bit embarrassing, really, but on the other hand it's helped to shape her into who she is today. Knowing how to hotwire a car might not have been as useful to Emma Charming as it had seemed at the time, but for a vigilante, it could come in handy. Shoplifting and underage drinking considerably less so, but honing a thief's set of skills had been necessary in the Enchanted Forest.

When her parents try to explain how worried they are about her and Henry, that they're willing to avert their eyes from a wrongdoing because of them, it makes her want to cry to feel just how much they care about her. Objectively she knows that the Charming power couple have many shortcomings, but she's never known them to turn away from an injustice without bringing it to light. They've earned a number of enemies, but Regina Mills is already of equal standing. When you take money and influence out of the equation, it comes down to character; she doesn't know her parents well enough to know that David and Mary Margaret are willing to bend morals to do what they think needs to be done, but she does know that they always have good intentions. If Regina is willing to go to any lengths to secure power, isn't worried about playing dirty—then her family is already at an extreme disadvantage if they play by the rules.

Luckily, she doesn't have to. Doing business with shady characters and buying politicians isn't really revolutionary in their world, but it's something to start with, and she knows that with Mulan's help she can find out more. “Don't worry,” Mary Margaret is in the middle of recounting all the possible ways that Regina would be able to ruin them when Emma hugs her. “I'll be careful.” Her mother kisses her temple and squeezes her tight.

“I won't tell anyone, either.”

The voice has the three of them whipping around to see Henry come striding through. “You were gonna have a family meeting without me?” His tone is only slightly accusatory, and David hides his grin behind his fist as Mary Margaret shoots him a look. “I heard you talking from my room. Just a head's up, if you don't want me to know something then maybe you should talk about it while I'm at school. Or not talk so loud.” He grins and Emma gives him a conspiratorial wink.

“Henry, we were going to tell you too, just--”

“Just not everything.”

At least their parents have the grace to look apologetic, and Emma excuses herself. Tapping him on the head with the folder as she passes him by, she leaves her family behind to go and take a shower before dinner. 


	9. professors, pirates, and pacts

Checking her email has not been at the top of Emma's list of priorities, but she's feeling lazy this morning and she's spent the past half hour sipping tea in her pajamas while sorting through her inbox. There's a lot there, but one of the more recent ones catches her eye; it's from her former psychology professor, Dr. Archie Hopper. One of the few she had formed any sort of rapport with, he wants to meet up with her. She has her suspicions, of course, and can't doubt that a part of it must be academic interest in her situation and the state of her mental health. He won't get far talking about it, of course, but it would be nice to take a break from being the Savior and just do something normal.

Ruby's been on her case to meet up for lunch, so after eating at an upscale cafe in the Kings district, she heads over to the Castle. The university is old, one of the oldest in the country (which is slightly less impressive than if they lived in Europe) and it looks just like that; a castle. Maybe more of an abbey, Emma's not entirely sure. She was never one for studying historical architecture, and when a name sticks it's hard to change it, no matter how incorrect it is. It certainly is an impressive edifice, and as she crosses through the front gates it's hard to shake the feeling that she has homework that needs to be done.

It's a bit early to show up at Dr. Hopper's office, so she takes her time strolling across the campus to the office wing. There's a gentleman, probably another professor judging by the suit and briefcase and generally harassed expression, and he's holding some textbooks under one arm. Shamelessly, she looks him up and down appreciatively and laughs inwardly; surely none of his students can spare attention for his lectures when his appearance is so distracting. Maybe if more of her professors had looked like that, she'd have gone to class more often. While she's watching him approach, she sees one of the books begin to slip, and it comes as no surprise to her to find it skittering across the cobblestones to her feet. She crouches carefully due to her skirt and picks it up, and inspects the cover as she stands up. It's a history book about the 17th century, and she reads the title out loud before she holds it out to him, an eyebrow raised.

“Ah, thank you,” He sounds distracted, which is disappointing, and seems to be in a hurry. “Off to a lecture, you see.” That's all she gets for conversation before he's headed off toward the lecture halls. There's a strange sense of familiarity hanging about the encounter, and Emma's racking her memory, trying to think of _why_ , as she goes to meet her professor.

* * *

He's stalking the streets again, the pirate. Emma's tracking him on foot, and he's honestly not hard to find. People remember when they've seen someone dressed as a pirate, especially when they're wielding a deadly weapon in the open. The only reason why he's not been caught yet is that the type of people he pays visits to aren't likely to go to the cops even if their lives depended on it. There's a buzzing in her earpiece and she turns it on—there's only one person that could be calling, and that's Mulan. There must be something important happening if she's calling, because she knows what Emma's plan was for the night. “What's the word?”

“I was listening to the police chatter. Someone reported that an aggravated robbery was in process, but according to dispatch it's going to take them awhile to get there. Can you take a break of pirate patrol and see if you can do anything?”

Emma's ducked into a corner, crouched beside a dumpster to keep out of sight from any passers-by. “I don't know, Mulan--”

“I didn't agree to work with you to help you find a boyfriend or to accomplish some petty revenge plot. I'm here to help people, and I thought that's what you were about.”  
“No, I am, of course, but don't you think it would be better to let the cops handle it? They know what they're doing and what would happen if they got there and I couldn't get away?”  
“You need to remember what you're doing this for. If it's not to keep people safe despite the possible consequences to yourself, then you're doing it for reasons that I can't agree with.”  
“If you don't agree with what I'm doing, why did you decide to join me?” Even to her ears, it sounds peevish. She knows Mulan is right, but she can't help but feel defensive.

Mulan's response holds less heat as she speaks after a pause. “Because I thought we were going to make a difference. I get that you really want this, and I'm not saying everything you're focused on isn't necessary, but I think sometimes you get a little too focused. The people of this city are what's important, keeping innocent people from experiencing all the terrible things you and I have seen. Sometimes they need protection in a smaller scale.”

It reminds her of what Henry had said, and she sighs. “Where do I need to go?”

“It's a convenience store. If you keep going straight, take the first right and continue to the corner, it should be just across the street. If you hurry, you might make it.”

As soon as Mulan begins the directions, she's back up and off for the store, wishing she hadn't left her cycle stowed five blocks away. “You're right, of course,” It takes a bit of her pride to admit it. “I can get a bit stubborn sometimes, but I'm glad you're here to remind me of what my priorities need to be, even if you don't sugarcoat it.”

“I've been thinking, about what you said the other day. I think I can set something up, if you can figure out who Hook really is, then I'll make a way for you to meet him.”

“I'll get my party dress.”

The gratitude the store manager shows her after she disarms and takes out the would-be robber as he's dashing down the street is all she needs to know that Mulan is right.

* * *

“I'm flattered, lass, really. You don't need to go to such lengths just to make an assignation, however; all you have to do is ask.” Hook is, apparently, getting better at paying attention to his surroundings than the first time they met, and he turns as he drops the man he has pinned against a wall. Emma steps forward and tilts her head to regard the man lying at Hook's feet, coughing.

“Don't call me lass.”  
“Shall I call you my Savior instead?”  
“Lass it is. I read an article about you in the paper. I'm not sure the whole Peter Pan thing has really caught on, you know.”

The pirate heaves a dramatic sigh as he drags his eyes upward in an impressive eye-roll. “Let me guess, they called me The Captain again.” Emma nods. “Bloody hell, they just can't seem—am I the only one who finds it awkward to call me The Captain?” The thug groans and gets to his feet, and Killian gestures toward him. “See? Even he agrees.”

“Don't look at me, I can't get them to stop calling me the Savior. Your guy just got away,” She points out dubiously, wondering if he's really so carelessly stupid.

It's with nonchalance that he gestures behind him without breaking eye contact. “No consequence, he was incredibly unhelpful.”

“Why are you here, Hook?”  
“Like I said, I'm--”  
“You're looking for someone. I remember. Who?”

The sleeve of his shirt has slipped up his arm, and the tattoo it reveals can be easily read. Seeing her chance, she moves in and grabs his hand, lifting it up as she uses the distraction to attach a tracking device to the back of his vest. Cutting in as he seems to be about to make some sort of inappropriate comment, she looks pointedly at his wrist. “Milah? Is that who you're looking for?”

“No,” jerking his hand out of her grasp, a muscle in his jaw twitches as he seems to be clenching his teeth and the facade of sleazy assurance drops. It's the first time he's shown real emotion, and she knows she's hit a nerve. That little bit of information gets filed away for possible further use. “I know where Milah is.”

“Where is she?”  
“Gone.”  
“So who are you looking for?”  
“His name is Rumpelstiltskin, or at least that's the only name I have for him.”

Emma's not stupid, she can put two and two together. “He did something to her, didn't he?” Revenge. It's as simple as that, and she wonders if he has a Mulan or a Henry to keep him from doing something stupid. “So, what, you're just going to terrorize everyone in Storybrooke until you find something? What makes you think he's even here?”

“A rather formidable woman named Cora pointed me in this direction, and yes. I came here to exact my vengeance upon him, even if it kills me.”

The name brings back memories that she'd rather not recall, so they are pushed away for the sake of her concentration. “You're not doing a very good job.”

“Oh, really?” Standing there, visibly annoyed as she nods, he shifts his weight from one foot to the other before dragging a hand along his chin. “Fine, yes, I know. I have absolutely no other information than that he is here, somewhere, and it's a bloody big place.”

“I can't help you,” There's an emphatically apologetic tone to her voice that makes him pay close attention to her words. “You're out for blood, and I can't have that in my city. Whether he's a villain or not, it's not the way to get justice. Killing him will not bring you a happy ending, and I think you know that. If you cross that line, I will have to take you down too.”

There's a lost look in his eyes that she can identify with. It's the same bleak look that she sees staring back at her in the mirror when she's alone, and she feels the need to help him—not to achieve his revenge, but to set him on the right path. This is one soul that she could save, to make up for all those whose deaths weigh on her conscience. “What exactly would you suggest?” Everything about him is weary, from his posture to his tone of voice, and she decides to go with her gut.

“A partnership. I'll help you find Rumpelstiltskin, but we'll do it my way. We'll find a way to take him down without killing anyone. That's my rule. If you betray me, you won't like the consequences. Do we have a deal?”

Killian licks his lips as he stares contemplatively at her. “The terms are acceptable. Who knows? Perhaps we'll be quite the team.” Just like that, all of his bravado comes back with a smirk. Grasping the gleaming hook held out to her and shaking on it, she doesn't smile back at him. “How does this work, should I call you or will you call me?”

“Don't worry, I'll find you.”  
“It's a date, then, love.”  
“No, it's really not.”

They both turn away and walk off in opposite directions, and Killian glances back over his shoulder to watch the lithe shadow disappear around a corner. The unexpected help will make everything much easier, even if he has to hide his determination to kill Rumpelstiltskin.

* * *

“Hey, is it working?” Removing her quiver and bow as she descends the steps, she freezes upon realizing that Mulan is not alone. “Henry.” Resuming her descent, she looks questioningly at Mulan, who ignores her. “What are you doing here?” Putting her things away carefully, she crosses her arms and waits for his explanation.

“I followed Mulan,” Henry replies simply as he leans back in the chair. “You said I could help.”

Biting on the inside of her cheek, Emma tries to come up with a diplomatic way to respond. “I did, but I also said I needed your help at home, not here. You shouldn't come here, especially by yourself and especially at night! What if something happened and no one knew where you were?”

“If you let me come here, then I wouldn't have to sneak in,” He responds calmly, and Mulan turns around.

“The tracking device has been at the same location for over a half an hour now, and it's in a residential area in the university district.”

Torn between the two, she decides that Hook can wait a moment longer. “Henry, you can't come here. It might draw attention,” she pleads, trying to think of more reasons to convince him to stay away.

“No, I don't think so. You're not the only one who learned how to do things, you know. I'm not stupid enough to wear my school uniform. Besides, if you actually _let_ me come, then I can travel with you, or Mulan. That would be safe.”

Scrutinizing the situation for a moment, she decides to make a compromise. “Fine. But you are only allowed to come here with one of us, and if we say no, then there are absolutely no arguments. You have to trust me on this, Henry.

“Sounds good to me,” Henry replies smugly and turns to the screen Mulan is looking at. “Who are you tracking?”

“It's that pirate guy, the Captain or whatever.” Mulan responds, and Emma laughs, wondering what Hook would say if he were there now. “I think we should keep an eye on it tonight, to make sure he isn't just visiting someone, or something.”

“Good,” Emma's voice is slightly muffled as she pulls the tunic over her head. “Once we have a solid location on him, we can see who he really is under all that leather.” Mulan gives her a saucy half-smile and a quirk of her brow, and Emma wrinkles her nose. “You know what I mean!”

“I think this is important, if either of you are interested.” The attention turns back to Henry, who is pointing at the map on the screen. “This isn't just in the university district, it's real close to the school. Don't students usually live there? What if he's a student?”

Mulan peers at the rectangles and exhales sharply. “They also have houses that they rent to the professors, though.”

It gives Emma an idea that she likes rather more than going to the house and lying in wait in the hopes of recognizing the man that walks back out. “What if we try and get to the employee and student records? See which people have that address listed on their files? Can we do that?” Computers are definitely not Emma's thing. It's been ages since she used one, and she gets along fine without all the fancy gadgets, and she's not what the extent of Mulan's knowledge is on that matter.

“I can,” Henry states, and makes good on his words by hacking into the system and pulling up the files. There are too many to sort through quickly, and Emma asks him to pull up only the professors. There's far less of them, and it would be easier to rule them out first before tackling the student list. Besides, Emma feels as though the pirate is much older than the conventional student. Still, there are plenty of people who take classes when they're older, and it doesn't do to rule anything out just yet.

“Done. There are seven professors.”

“How...?” Emma looks bowled over, definitely impressed by the previously unknown depths to her brother's skill. “Wait, I recognize that guy,” as she frowns and points to a specific photo, Henry pulls up the information. “I met him on the campus, he's a professor of history. That was amazing!”

“Killian Jones, just started last semester. I knew you were just chasing a pretty face,” Mulan grumbles, and Emma groans as Henry pretends not to hear anything. “Looks like Emma Charming and Killian Jones need to be set up on a blind date. So to speak, of course,” Mulan adds hastily as she catches the crackling glower directed her way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> juuust wanna remind everyone that i've taken liberties with the characters' personalities a bit, to bend them to fit the story. also, that this is still unedited so if you notice something feel free to point it out. whooop


	10. the professor leads the fight

“I sent him an email posing as a student asking about his office hours and if I could meet with him to discuss a paper I'm working on.” Mulan looks very smug as she recounts every detail of the plan to Emma; and rightly so, because meeting at Killian Jones' office on campus is the perfect rendez-vous. Not only is he guaranteed to be there if he thinks he has to meet with a student, but it will be private and will make it easy to take control over the situation, should any possible hitch occur. Emma raises her eyebrows, impressed with the simplicity of it. “Just in case there is anyone listening in, I found an audio jammer for you. It's small, and you can slip it into your pocket.” Handing it over, she looks at her watch. “We settled upon 4:50, which is after his final class, so you have plenty of time to get over there and check out the location. Are you sure you want to go through with this, Emma?”

The worry does nothing to change Emma's decision. At this point, she thinks that trusting Killian Jones could benefit the both of them; it would be nice to have some more help out “in the field” as well as with intel-gathering. Killian might be a bit determined and hot-headed at times, but most of the time he listens to her and genuinely seems to care about her opinions. It's risky, but there's a reckless sense of desperation too; he is a part of her world the way the others aren't, not even Mulan. The sense of loss and purpose she can identify with, and despite everything he seems to be...lost; doesn't know what he's doing, if he'll ever accomplish his goal, overwhelmed. That's something she can identify with, too, and she feels as though she owes it to Hunter to repay his kindness by helping Killian find his footing just as Hunter helped her on the island. Mulan might be able to see that it's important to Emma, but not why.

“Yes. Thank you.” Holding up the audio jammer for a moment before placing it into the pocket of her red leather jacket, she draws a deep breath. “If all goes well, I'll bring him here in a few days.” It earns a dubious expression in response, but she doesn't have time to try and argue Mulan over to her side; it's time to go, and at least this time there's no need for a wardrobe change.

* * *

By the time her watch reads 4:45, Emma has already circled the building perimeter twice, walked the halls inside the building thrice, and come up with at least three concrete escape plans, should anything go awry. There are a few more forming a bit hazily in her mind, but they're only contingencies. Walking slowly up the three flights of stairs in the history building eats up some of her time, taking the slow pace to actually really appreciate her surroundings. Emma doesn't often have the luxury of just looking at times like this, and it makes her wonder just how much she's missed out on seeing. The architecture outside is simple but classic, and inside is full of cheaper imitations of luxury; marble and ornate molding along the ceiling, painted pillars and beautiful artwork hanging on the wall (donated by the Art Department) depicting various scenes from history. The staircase itself spirals up and out on two sides, with iron handrails with a curling tendril motif. There are muffled voices coming from each floor she passes until she reaches the fourth floor. The silence is almost unsettling after the bustling activity from the campus and the lower three floors, but then she realizes it's more tranquility than anything else. Behind each door is a possible maelstrom of papers to be graded, books to be read, notes for the creation of a lecture, and coffee stains on the rug.

Hook's office, room 402, is obvious when she sees it. It's not the little plaque that bears his name in stark white lettering, but the pictures of pirates pasted all over a cork-board that give it away. Rolling her eyes up to the ceiling and wondering what kind of idiot she's really dealing with, she raps her knuckles on a grizzled face. Given permission to enter, she pushes through and looks around her at his office. This is the only part of her plan that she can't have accounted for, having never seen his office in person. She did break into someone else's office on the floor, but there was no guaranteeing that his looked exactly the same. It was cleaner, if anything, which surprised her. The amount of organization in here was rather impressive, and she locked the door behind her, hiding her actions from him as she stole a hand into her pocket to activate the audio jammer device, wanting to take no chances that anyone could listen in on them.

“So, Miss--ah, Emma. Did you bring the notes you wished to discuss? Please, take a seat.”

He gestures toward a chair placed before his desk, but she ignores him and instead makes a bit of a show of wandering by and inspecting the books on the shelf behind him. “This is a nice place you got, Captain.”

“I beg your pardon?”

The offended incredulity in his voice makes her want to laugh. She had surely known just how entertaining this would be for her, and with the knowledge that if she changes her mind, she can keep her own secret safe by not telling him how she knows about his more interesting extracurricular activities. “Sorry, _Professor_ Jones.”

“Yes. It's not the correct title, either. I was never captain in Her Majesty's navy, merely a lieutenant. Now, I am rather busy, so if you please,” He gestures again to the chair placed before him with some impatience.

“No, I don't please. And I didn't mean that you were a captain, merely that it was another...name. One that you've earned on land rather than on sea.”  
“I'm afraid I've no idea what you mean,” He replies stiffly. “If you're only here to waste my time, I'd kindly ask you to make yourself scarce.”

Huffing out her nose in laughter at the petulant tone, Emma leans her hands flat on his desk, capturing his wary gaze knowing that the glee in hers is probably aggravating him even more. “You know, without your hook, you're much less threatening. Captain.”

“Who are you?” Killian glares up at her defiantly.  
“A friend, if you play your cards right.”  
“Are you blackmailing me?”

There's a note of amusement to his words mixed with the disbelief, and she laughs this time, disposing herself in the chair, she regards him with a knowing smile. “No, of course not. Or...well, yes, in a way, I suppose. If you want to look at it like that. I have a sort of...proposition to put to you, Captain Hook.” A narrowing of his eyes makes her hope that perhaps he finally has some sort of suspicion as to her alter-identity. “I think that we can help each other out. I think I can trust you; my friend disagrees, but I'm hoping you'll prove her wrong. The name's Charming, by the way. Yes, that Emma Charming.”

Killian's gaze sweeps her up and down a few times before he gets up and approaches, peering closer at her face with suspicion. “Have we met before? How do you know about...that?”

“How else could I know about it?”

There's a moment of disappointment at his inability to at least make a guess before his expression relaxes in what she can only call a moment of clarity. “Swan? That is you, isn't it? I'll be damned!”

“Probably,” Emma smirks as she stands up and holds out a hand, which he shakes a bit absently.

* * *

Killian is laughing at a particularly scathing quip Emma has just sent his way as they descend the stairs of her hideout, and it causes Mulan to turn around to watch them. There is no greeting smile, which Emma supposes she should have expected, and instead of acknowledging Emma, Mulan has a warning scowl on her face as she watches Killian, posture holding that strained appearance as though she's poised and ready to attack should he make one false step.

“Killian, this is my friend, Mulan.”

Stretching forward a hand paired with a grin, the frosty impassiveness that he meets causes him to flex his hand as it drops to his side.

“If you do anything to jeopardize either Emma's safety or my own, I won't hesitate to take you down.” There's not a flicker of emotion marring the steady expression on Mulan's face, and Emma bites a lip as she watches Killian adopt what she can identify as a rather forced smile.

“Wouldn't dream of it, mate.” As soon as Mulan's back is turned, he directs a look of inquiry at Emma before he notices the displayed array of weapons behind her. “Now that is certainly an impressive collection you have there, Swan.”

As he goes to investigate the trove of weapons she has at her disposal, along with the training course she has set up, Emma takes the chance to talk with Mulan. “Well that could have gone better.”

“I told you that I don't like this plan. How do you know you can trust him?”

“I just...you'll have to trust me, I guess. Besides, we know his secret, and I have much more money and power backing me up than he does. There's any number of ways to spin it that he's just trying to stir up trouble if he tries to out me to the press or anything.”

“That's not really what I'm worried about, Emma. What if he tells an enemy? What if he's working for the Evil Queen?”

It's something that has crossed her mind, and she looks over her shoulder at Killian as he's inspecting one of her arrows. “Then he'll wish he never met us.”

“What about Henry? Does he know about you and Captain Hook?”  
“There is no me and Captain Hook, Mulan. It's not like that.”  
“Don't deflect.”

“Yes, he knows about Captain Hook, but no, I don't think they should meet. That's the last thing I need.”

* * *

It's almost painful, sitting behind the computers as she keeps an eye on those two, but Mulan can't stop staring. Emma and Killian are practicing their hand-to-hand combat, and the scene before her is so unprofessional that it just hurts to watch. There's a stupid crooked grin on Killian's face as Emma takes him out, and to Mulan it's obvious that it's admiration written across his features. Emma lets out a peal of laughter as he brings her down beside him that rattles Mulan like nothing else; in all the time she's known Emma, any real display of emotions are few and far between and usually run toward the negative side. She's good at putting up a false, forced smile to others, but Mulan has come to know when the mask is up. The smile that Emma turns on Killian is bright and true, from the relaxed muscles of her mouth to the crinkling of her eyes. It's not just this one time thing; that would be startling enough, but it's worse. Her eccentric friend has been unusually...cheerful of late. Cheerful, but less focused.

Sometimes, Mulan isn't sure what to think; she definitely doesn't trust Killian Jones. Never has, maybe she never will. He's changed the dynamic of their situation, and his past and present purposes are known fully to him alone. As he's relatively new to the city, it's difficult to back up anything he says with actual evidence. It's possible that he's a spy working for the Evil Queen, they don't always keep tabs on what he does and where he goes when he's not with them. Emma and Mulan have done a very good job of thwarting a lot of the Evil Queen's enterprises, and have aided the Storybrooke police department in taking down one of her drug rings and uncovered the corrupt dealings of two businesses that Mulan had suspected were being used by the Queen to launder money. They've been careful, so careful, to keep everything a secret, but that's the trouble: a secret is hard to hold onto. If the Queen wanted to infiltrate the Savior's ranks, what better way than to present a possible ally? Especially one as charming as the image Hook presented. It's what Mulan would have done, and the Queen must be a brilliant woman to control such an extensive web of criminal activity.

That being said...as she tilts her head and glances up at them for the umpteenth time, Killian bears all the marks of someone who is being open and honest. She knows about Emma's weird talent for being able to tell when people are lying, and she wants to believe that it always works without fault, but what are the chances that there isn't a single person in the world who can trick her? Maybe a part of Emma just wants to believe in him, and that alone can be disastrous, misleading the way she reads every situation where he is involved. It's a flirtation she's watching unfold before her, unable to stop it from progressing, and Mulan feels more nervous than she has since she first joined up with the Charming scion. Their moods seem to have an inverse relationship; the higher the sparring pair's seem to get, the more dour Mulan becomes. There's only one thing to do, and that's to make sure that she just sits down with Emma and voices her concerns—after all, that is part of the reason why Emma brought her into the enterprise in the first place; because she speaks her mind.

For now, she tries to concentrate on tracking the communications of a potential lead on a problematic mob boss named Mr. Gold. Word has it that he's in league with the Queen, and this is the closest they've been in ages. To Mulan, it speaks volumes that instead of being over here taking in all the information and going out and pursuing the lead in person, Emma is play fighting with her English boy toy, and when a text message pops up on her phone from Belle, she decides that she'll take a break herself and doesn't bother to interrupt the couple when she slips out and heads off to the diner.

* * *

When Henry finds out that they've taken Hook on as an ally, it's all he can talk about. Emma supposes that it's only natural, after all; there's something irresistible about a pirate vigilante character, especially if you're a young boy who reads too many comic books. She tells him as much, but it makes no difference. Knowing what will happen with how determined he can be, she concedes.

She and Killian are working on her sword-fighting; turns out that he's more than proficient despite her belief that he was merely boasting, and as she's never really learned how to wield one with finesse it works out well. They're taking a break when they realize they have an audience and Killian walks over, sheathing his sword at his hip, to introduce himself to Henry. “Hello, lad. I've heard much about you. You've a fencer's look to you, and that happens to be my specialty. If you've an interest, Henry, perhaps sometime after school you could join your sister in her lessons.”

Emma swallows a smile and shoves him out of the way. “Don't listen to him. You're not allowed to touch any weapons until you're at least eighteen.” Henry rolls his eyes and she grabs him by the shoulders and turns him back toward a chair, throwing a wide eyed warning look in Killian's direction. Ducking out of her hands, Henry moves around her and goes back over to Hook. Emma is about to join them when she feels a firm touch at her shoulder. Turning to frown questioningly back at Mulan, her open expression falls at the serious, anxious look in Mulan's. “Oh no, don't tell me that the lead from last night didn't pan out. I'm not sure I could take Mr. Gold's men by surprise again.” Mulan shakes her head and draws her off to the side. “Well...there's something bothering you?” It's phrased as a question, but it's really more of an observation. Emma doesn't like that look, it means that Mulan has something to say that she knows Emma won't want to hear. There's a stubbornness to Emma that rears up preemptively, and she tries to remain open to whatever Mulan has to say.

“You know, you've been smiling. A lot.”

 _That's a surprise and a half_ , Emma's brow furrows as she glances upward, processing and attempting to figure out where this is going. “Uh...” She flings a hand out as though asking for Mulan to elaborate.

“It's weird. It's more than weird, it's...unusual. Ever since I've met you, you've genuinely smiled no more than three times in my presence. Five days ago, you actually laughed. What's changed?”

It really means nothing, Emma will swear up and down that she only glances over to Hook and Henry to make sure they're not listening. When her gaze flicks back, Mulan is looking at them as well. The expression on her face can be described as nothing other than pinched, and when she turns her accusatory stare back onto Emma, it makes her feel a little guilty. “If you're going to tell me that's a bad thing, I'm not really sure you understand the way life works.”

“It's not that you're feeling less...reserved or restrained or whatever. If you feel that you have more reasons to smile, then I'm glad Emma, I really am. I want you to be happy, what kind of person would I be if I didn't? I just...” Mulan glances once more at Hook, displaying his dramatic flair in the one-man show of swordsmanship he's putting on for Henry's entertainment. “I'm worried that you're putting your faith with someone that we don't know yet. I won't bring it up again after this unless you want to, but I can't just sit by and keep quiet. I won't. Your neck isn't the only one that's being stuck out there, and although I'm willing to risk my own well-being to protect people, I'm not going to just trust some guy who waltzes in and--” Mulan breaks off, looking as though she's just realized that it's beginning to turn into a rant. Drawing a deep breath, she shrugs and completes her thought. “I'm just questioning whether or not it's a good idea to trust him so much, so soon. Obviously you know more about him than I do, and I'm not asking for you to tell me his every secret. I just want to make sure that you're approaching him from as objective a stance as you can, because lately I'm not sure it's really much of a joke about you being sweet on him anymore.”

Emma's jaw is clenched, and as Mulan finishes she realizes that her fists are clenched as well. She tried to be calm, but she can't help but be offended that Mulan doesn't have faith in _her_ and her ability to analyze the situation. As though she would just trust any random person who came up to her! It has taken a lot of thought for her to trust Hook this much, even, and Mulan doesn't even know the entire situation, she doesn't have all the facts. Emma considers turning the conversation back on Mulan and accusing her of being obstinately untrusting despite the lack of evidence against Killian, but she has enough restraint to merely raise her eyebrows and shrug in annoyance. “Thank you for your opinion, I'll certainly take it into account.” Her voice is stiff, and Mulan's nostrils flare, but there's no further interaction between them. They stare at each other for a moment before breaking apart, both continuing about their business in disappointment, mumbling irritated words in breathy tones to themselves.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter has been a long time coming! sorry for the wait, but the next few chapters are almost finished so they'll be much quicker in the posting.

**Author's Note:**

> this is my arrow crossover gift to hookslovelyswan on tumblr for the Captain Swan Secret Shipmates challenge. unbeta'd because i'm the worst procrastinator there is, haha.


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